Critical Poetry—G. Tod Slone, Editor (Concord, MA)                                        For more highly critical verse, see Critical Poems.    
 

For more of the editor's poetry or prose, see manuscripts. 

The Bitch Goddess of Capitulation

Constantly aware of the

frequent impulse to

censor myself,

sensing I should not

see evil, hear it,

let alone speak of it

Angered by my mind’s

will to acquiesce, as if

somehow natural,

while so many others

seem entirely unperturbed

—perhaps they simply

don’t see or hear it, so

cannot be compelled,

to speak of it?

Others who feel as I do

rationalize so easily

their compliance

but I simply cannot,
compulsion always pushing

me to kick myself in the ass

and force my hand to write

knowing all too well

that action will kill “success.” 

Saturday Morning Disturbance at Mylos
(Monroe, Louisiana)

Both females looked up, cold, grizzle

in their gray offended pusses.

They’d sat down in front of me and

had begun gabbing non-stop

departmental—“he’s a dick”—politics.

They were local university academics,

wearing red tee-shirts (Marxists?).

One had kept looking over at me,

(did she think I was one of them, or

maybe was listening to their horseshit?),

so I grabbed one of my flyers, stood up,

and walked over to their little table,

set myself before their double lattés,

waited several seconds patiently—

arrogant PhDs affixed in their pupils.

“Please don’t think I’m rude,” I said

handing them the flyer. 

“If you’d like to read some real criticism

of university life, read this.  I’m the editor.” 

The one who’d kept looking over, took

the flyer, put it down without even looking

at it and said flatly:  “Oh!  Thank you.” 

Back to my seat I walked, feeling a tad

uptight as if I’d done something wrong,

as if such things weren’t supposed

            to be done to college professors…

A Poem for the Edification of Lit Cogs

Intellectually I sharpen from constant collision

with the established-order—its myriad components

and ubiquitous legions of abnegating proponents.

“I agree with much of what you're saying,” wrote

one such editor,* who then proceeded to argue

that what I was saying was actually

“rant” and “sour grapes.”

But how could an intelligent person agree with that,

I wondered, bringing it to his attention, though in vain;

besides, why should the literary agora be open only

to sweet grapes?

“But if your tone is anything like your tone here, I

wouldn't be interested in it,” he stated with regards

another critical proposal of mine.

Thus, my approach was off, my tone wrong, and

of course my taste not in good taste at all.

But was Villon’s verse written in the right tone or

Solzhenitsyn’s prose or Bukowski’s or how about

Thomas Paine’s?  Was his written in good taste? 

But to that, the constituent simply closed the debate

with a curt “good luck with the browbeating.”

Sadly, the logic tends to die, inevitably,

                        with diehards of the established-order.

…………………………………………………………

*C.L. Bledsoe, editor of Ghoti Magazine

Poem #2 for the Edification of Lit Cogs

An editor wrote that my “general frustration with

some of the ‘norms’ and ‘protocols’ of the literary

world were well-founded and needed

to be expressed”* and

that he was “really drawn” to my writing. 

“I must say.  I actually agree with a lot

of what

you say.” 

Three months later I wrote him a reminder, asking

if he were still drawn to what I had to say and would

consider publishing something of what I had to say.

But in an unsurprising about face, he responded

“I'm not wanting to out and out burn bridges because,

well we’re a writer-friendly publication.”

Yet how, I wondered, had the prime concern of

literary publishers, apart from excellence—

oh, but of course!—

become apprehension of burning bridges, while

“writer friendly” equated with truth avoidance?

Had the Janus-faced politician turned role model? 

“But I do want to take on (more) controversial issues,

and I do want to give voice to ‘unpopular’ views,”

he proudly declared, as if fence straddling had been

                        elevated to one of the fine arts.

“Some degree of prudence is needed, but not to the

point of sacrificing authenticity and fairness.”

Would he, I wondered, be presenting himself one day

as candidate for the Congress or Senate? 

…………………………………………………………

*John Amen, Chief Editor of Pedestal Magazine

Poem #9 for the Edification of Lit Cogs

Criticize the overfed—

their writing, art,

poetry reviews, or

whatever—

and

inevitably they’ll resort

to ad hominem rhetoric.

Criticize them with

irrefutable logic, and

they’ll become

irrevocably offended,

might oddly even argue

“the validity of your views”*

“pretty worthy,”

though will

entirely avoid the

criticism, assert that you

“come off as

extremely sanctimonious”

and that the “smugness

and elitism inherent”

in what you’d written

to be no less than

                        “mind-blowing.”

……………………………………………..

*Words in quotes are remarks made by Ty Burr, Boston Globe columnist, RE my criticism of one of his columns

Smiley-Face 101

As democracy continues looking more and more

like corporate groupthink with the touch

of a clichéd educationist leadership initiative,

the black robes offer good advice

for “determining a before, during, and after

goodness of fit.”¹

And their universities continue looking more and

more like bourgeois bastions of anonymity,

safety, comfort and cutesiness,

featuring Dean Dad, Ms. Mentor, Mama, PhD,²

and their toothless university diaries. 

Within that diversionary framework,

they’ve invented a unique literary competition,

where verse must be composed from the

higher-education “poetry magnets

gracing file cabinets and department refrigerators

at institutions across the country and

around the world.”³

Oddly, “truth” is not a magnet, at least not

one of theirs,

though the contest permits a certain

liberty of expression

(“you can add a few of your own”),

which is why I thought I’d dare add this poem.

As democracy continues reshaping its face,

they sit eagerly piling on the make-up, while

purging those too critical to play in their teams

and courting wealthy benefactors to help fortify

their club and vacuous dreams.   

……………………………………

¹The full title of the scholarly article to which this quote refers is “Interviewing for the Professorship: Determining a Before, During, and After Goodness of Fit.”  It was written by Mack T. Hines III, Ed. D., Dianne G. Reed, Ed. D., Barbara Polnick, Ed. D., Carol Parker, Ed. D., all of Sam Houston State University (Department of Educational Leadership and Counseling).  Many similar vacuous articles are produced year after year by the nation’s numerous leadership colleges and institutions.  “Fit,” by the way, is not what democracy should be about.   

²Actual higher-ed professor and columnist pseudonyms. 

³A quote from Inside Higher Ed's poetry contest announcement.  The prize is an Inside Higher Ed t-shirt.

Risk
Experience dictates

that poets, who

never take risks

by biting (or even

gnawing just a tad)

the multiple hands

feeding

or apt to feed them

—that tentacular

machine of publication,

publicity, grant, tenure,

and reading invitation—

that those poets will likely

not be able to comprehend

the concept of parrhesiastes

and how not taking risks

inevitably renders their verse

impotent or at best not urgent.

“I think one takes a risk

by merely

sitting down to write a poem,”

one of them actually wrote me.